Trigger warnings: psychological issues (hallucinations, nightmares), loss of a loved one

Weeks had passed since Baahubali returned. Weeks after Lalita was beginning to shed the shell she’d retreated into when Rudra went missing, presumed to be dead. Some days were better than the others, now that the poison left her body entirely. But she was still tired; enough to not step outside the palace, out into the city yet: something Baahubali knew for a fact that she was terribly missing, and felt terribly helpless for being unable to do much about it. He religiously brought her the snacks—those made by the commoners—as often as he could.

When the poison was still in her body, Lalita slept more often. Since her childhood, perhaps because of how many lessons and activities she involved herself in, even a simple afternoon nap was considered to be lazy by the Princess of Maahishmati. And yet, she had to resign herself to a day full of unplanned naps, because sometimes sleep was kinder when your body did not know how to distinguish reality from illusion anymore.

However, sleep only wore the guise of being kinder while having potential for unparalleled cruelty; because in the realm of dreams, where anything was possible, she could be in Rudra’s embrace just long enough to believe it was real, before she saw him being drenched in his own blood, or worse, transform into a heap of ashes, as his fate was imagined to be by the scouts of Maahishmati.

She would sometimes wake up screaming, and other times with soft wails after having no energy to spend on at least sitting up in her bed. 

Baahubali held her every single time. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here… You’re safe.”

Never once did he find the job tiring or unworthy of his time. And not once did he give her the excuse of having princely duties to attend to. Whenever possible, he either delegated his work, or postponed it to a day he hoped would be a better one for Lalita.

“Why are you still here?” Lalita would ask, with glazed over eyes and a tone that made it unclear whether she wanted him there or not.

And whenever she did, Baahubali quietly—never unkindly—redirected the conversation to focus on her. “Do you need something? Water?”

Because Baahubali was aware that there was nothing he could say to convince Lalita that he really did not find this a burden. He also thought it a silly question, not really deserving of a reply as such. Besides, more importantly, according to him there were no words necessary apart from the ones that comforted her. Especially not when she woke up from such a devastating nightmare. 

Lalita never asked the same question twice in a row. Baahubali was not sure whether she understood his intention behind not answering it; but he knew that if she did, she did not remember it well, for she asked it again the next time she would have a nightmare. She did not seem to remember much when she had these ‘episodes’ worsened by the poison.

Now, only the poison was gone. The fear still hadn’t left entirely.

And so, having witnessed Lalita’s plight whenever such a bout occurred, one could understand why Baahubali was so skeptical of a message she had received from Hemavati which asked her to visit—and disapproving of her enthusiasm to do the same.

“I can handle it, Baahu,” Lalita said, not argumentatively. Not like she usually would have. “The healers said I’m fully fit now. It’s barely an hour’s journey.”

Her unusually demure tone was enough warning for him. “But we don’t know how long you would have to be there, and neither do we know where you would have to stay. Mainly, we are not aware of who it is that insists on you visiting so urgently.”

“Which is why I must go see for myself,” though economical with her words, a quiet steadfastness shone through them. Baahubali found his own determination to dissuade her faltering in face of her conviction. 

He sighed. “I do not find it safe enough, Lali…” He was overseeing a personal troop he’d assembled to really get to the core of the issues plaguing the island, and protect the inhabitants if possible. His soldiers reported horrible happenings from every nook and corner of the territory. 

“But what if it’s someone who really needs me there? The people of Hemavati belong to our kingdom as much as anyone here in this city. Do they not?”

Baahubali could not—Baahubali would not argue against that.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Then Kattappa Mama comes with us.”

Baahubali chuckled. The old spark in his twin surely returned, even if for the briefest of moments. “Your lack of belief in me to keep the both of us safe is surely wounding, but not unfounded,” he was referring to the unabashed lectures of Kattappa dissecting every mistake he’d made in their mission of rescuing the hostages. “I understand, my Princess.”

“Grateful. If you will let me have the honour of making preparations…”

“...and take for myself the noble duty of informing Mama; and more importantly, convincing Amma. Got it, Lali.” He ruffled her hair. 

Lalita let out a soft whine, hands moving slowly to the top of her head to fix the mess he’d made. She still did not have enough energy to jump up and reach his hair to completely destroy the meticulous styling of cosmeticians. Baahubali would never admit to Lalita that he secretly enjoyed experimenting with his fashion; he would not admit that she was right in forcing those cosmeticians into his chambers by her when they turned sixteen. He held the most childish grudges only with his sister.

“You only have a ghatika to get ready!” Baahubali ran off to exit the chamber. 

“This is the location, my Princess,” Anila pointed to a small hill that was still a great distance away.

They were all in a bullock cart dressed in simple clothes. Announcing the arrival of royals and warriors of Maahishmati in such an unpredictable region was hardly a good idea.

“It is the place in which the old festival dedicated to Devi Saraswati was performed in this tribe.”

“Was?”

“Umm, Rakumari…”

“What is it, Anila?” Baahubali encouraged him to speak freely.

“They… don’t really…”

“They do not have the funds anymore,” Kattappa spoke on his subordinate’s behalf.

Lalita then remembered how many of the decorative items for her wedding were brought for people’s own homes, more than the temple which was the site of officiation. She had thought it was a token of love from the people’s side. Shame crept in as she shrunk into herself. “Things must have only worsened after the attacks…”

Baahubali wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. He then turned to face Kattappa. “What do we know about them?”

“The attackers remain largely unidentified, except for this one symbol on the ones we managed to capture,” Kattappa pulled out a small parchment scroll, which Lalita grabbed with both her hands before Baahubali even had the chance.

It was the image of a serpent that was awaiting the perfect moment to lift its hood and strike its chosen prey.

“I… I remember seeing it somewhere. But…”

Lalita’s eyes fluttered shut without her intending to do so—her eyeballs beneath the shut lids moved haphazardly as too many flashes of the past flooded her mind as she still truly recollected nothing.

“Lali,” Baahubali tightened his grip on her shoulders and sat her down. “Lali. Lali?” 

He gently shook her. She rested her head against his forearm, still not opening her eyes. Looking frantically within, for some seemingly important memory. 

“You don’t have to remember right now,” he insisted, cupping her face in his hands. Her eyes snapped open with a wild, searching look in her eyes.

“I was so close, but—but then I saw—”

“Lali, breathe. You must breathe.”

“I-I am, I—I am,” she panted. “I just… I was so close!”

“Lali, look at me. Look at me. Just breathe… Inhale,” he deliberately slowed his breathing down so that she could look at him and follow.

She copied his gesture, though struggling to do so.

“Good. Now exhale, calmly.”

Sobs threatened to break through, but she focused all her efforts on just listening to her brother.

“That’s it… that’s it.”

She let him take her into his arms and hold her as he did when she woke up crying her throat hoarse one night from a nightmare. 

⇕

It was one of the first nights after the prince and princess were still young, of merely seven springs, and had just gotten separated into their own chambers after the sword ceremony. Lalita remembered thinking that more duties sometimes brought more freedom—it was exciting. 

Until night came and the rain started. 

“I dreamt that I was in a thunderstorm,” she cried. “All alone!”

“Well, that’s how you know it’s a fake dream,” he only half-jested. “Because I would follow you anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“That’s right. Even if it was a place like the realm of Yama.”

“Like the scary one from Amma’s stories? Really?”

“Yes! Don’t you ever doubt me, Lali,” he pouted, puffing up his chest with pride, for the purpose of dramatic flair.

“…okay,” she sniffled. “I trust you, Baahu.”

“You better.”

⇕

“I trust you, Baahu…” she said as she felt a wave of dizziness coming. While the body managed to get rid of them entirely, some effects of the herb lingered on her mind, ready to ambush when she stressed herself out too much. She didn’t have to explain this; Baahubali always knew.

“You better,” he said simply, stroking her hair.

“We must be careful,” she still warned, knowing her brother’s reckless tendencies when it came to his own life.

“I know, Lali,” he resolved himself to not do something that would cause her panic. 

She did not need something so distressing now.

“Just rest.”

“Lali?” Baahubali patted Lalita’s cheek. “Lali…” 

“Hm,” she stirred.

“Wake up, we’re almost here.”

Lalita’s eyes were red—not bloodshot—the dull and tired kind. Her back immediately straightened and she peeped out of the small window in the cart. There was a young soldier clutching his sword, keeping his shield close to his heart. His grip trembled. “Who is that?”

“The Last Guard of the temple died in the attacks. This boy is her son,” Baahubali filled her in on the information she’d missed out. “Mama and Anila went to convince him that we’re really here to help.”

“Anila is returning.”

Baahubali gently pulled Lalita back and peeped out of the window himself. 

“But Mama is talking to someone. He’s bowing. Isn’t he supposed to bow only to the royals of Maahishmati or allied kingdoms?”

“He should be able to choose whom he bows to, Lali.”

“I know, but the code of conduct, about which he’s always ready to launch into a speech every moment—”

“We will discuss that later. Let us go closer to him now.”

Anila had just broken into a sprint downhill and looked like he might fall any moment. It was unusual for him to be so anxious.

Baahubali drove the cart to Anila. They met him when he was halfway down the hill. Lalita jumped out on impulse; her mind reminded her that it was a mistake. Wincing as she gathered her bearings, she approached Anila. “What’s wrong?”

“The one—the one who… who sent—” Anila panted. 

Baahubali placed a hand on his shoulder and waited until he caught his breath.

“The one who sent you the message, Rakumari. It was the Pandita in the Temple of Saraswati.”

“Rudra’s guru!”

Anila nodded vigorously. “He is… he is on his deathbed, my Princess! And he keeps asking for you.”

Lalita gasped. The man had definitely seen a thousand full moons, but he was still thriving when she last met him. She had not heard of such a rapid decline in health over just a few weeks. He must have seen an attack.

He must be carrying Rudra’s message.

“We must go soon,” she said and sped ahead of the men, not caring for their calls behind her asking her to slow down or get back into the cart.

She had to see Samartha—the Pandita at the temple—soon.

She had to be faster than the God of Death.

“Ah, my child… you have finally arrived,” a feeble voice greeted her when she rushed to the bed situated inside the inn which was supposed to house visitors to the temple. Once exuding grandeur, now the inn was only home to Samartha. “Thank you, for honouring this old man’s request.”

“Gurudeva… I did not know it was you. If it were, I would have arranged for better arrangements and transported you back to the city—”

“And that is precisely why I concealed my identity,” he smiled; it was one of abandon. “I can sense that my time has come, child…”

Lalita’s eyes were filling, against her will.

“Do not let yourself fall apart. There are many who need you, and you are not alone…”

She gripped his hand, watching the skin that was stretched thin against his limbs. “This is not fair,” she managed to breathe out. That was when Baahubali and Anila had entered the inn too, but remained near the doorway. They did not want to intrude. 

“Life is hardly ever fair,” he chuckled drily, only half-expecting this naive argument from the girl he knew would change the course of history for her kingdom from the very moment he saw her. “But you must keep going.”

Samartha knew with full confidence that Lalita was different. The sharp observational quality of her eyes was matched equally with soft compassion and fierce desire to bring about change. And when Rudra—although proud of his new bride—asked him why he thought so, he replied, “…because being alive for more than eighty springs teaches you a thing or two about people.”

“You must keep going irrespective of whether your husband returns or not.”

A few tears fell from her eyes onto Samartha’s hand—the one she was gripping tightly, afraid to let go. Afraid to be left behind with little guidance. Afraid that death would sever the sole connection she shared with her husband’s world. “You cannot ask that of me, Gurudeva.”

“It is cruel, I know. But I need you to promise. There are not many people who like you; people who would lose everything and stand up to fight in spite of everything.”

How Lalita wished she was not so strong.

“There are few devotees of Rama who carry his spirit as deeply as you do, Bharati.”

Lalita’s grip on Samartha’s hand loosened momentarily. It was a title she was given when she turned eighteen, by her Guru, the Mahamantri of Maahishmati. She received the epithet in honour of the very Goddess worshipped by Samartha. She now thought she was completely unfit for it now, but did not want to argue with a dying man.

“Then why does it seem that he has forgotten me?” her voice broke. Whether she spoke about Rama or Rudra, she did not know. Samartha knew, however, that it was meant for both.

“Some questions can only be answered by time, Bharati. And in the meantime, we must only follow our duties… which brings me to the purpose of my message.”

Lalita leaned forward slightly, more alert than she had been in weeks.

“Regret weighs heavily on my heart. There is one duty I have not been able to fulfil in this lifetime, and I was hoping you could.”

“You only have to order me, Gurudeva.”

“This… is not something I can order you to do. I can only request.”

She frowned. What could possibly make him hesitate so much?

“My son lost his life fighting these battles against the unknown enemy. Rudra had gone missing by then. And… and you must remember my daughter-in-law, Madhavi?”

Lalita nodded.

“She was devastated. She was already eight months pregnant when my son died, and when she gave birth last week to her twins, she too…”

Lalita had never seen Samartha overcome by such emotion before; she felt profound grief for the people she barely knew. They must have been people Rudra grew up with. Even if he returned miraculously, the world he knew would not be there to welcome him back. “Did the children…?” 

Samartha nodded. “They did make it. Stubborn little ones,” he smiled ruefully. 

Lalita realised what he was asking of her. It was unsure if Samartha would even live to see another sunrise. He would never have an opportunity to see the childhood of his grandchildren.

“It is a great burden, and you are very young, I know… but—”

Lalita was not really listening anymore. She glanced at Baahubali who stood outside. When they were born, they too had been in an equally vulnerable state, only housed within a richer building. They could have been abandoned too—if they physically remained within the palace, they would still have been caged under gold and deprived of warmth. If not for Sivagami’s choice to take the poor infants under her wing…

Lalita shuddered to even think of the possibility. “I will raise them, Gurudeva. It is no burden,” she promised the man who laid weakly before her.

“This is not a small decision, Princess.”

“But my answer is not going to change. They will grow up as my children.”

“Before you meet them, I suggest that you think over it once, consult the Prince—”

“Forgive me for interrupting, Gurudeva. But is it not among the greatest sins to separate a mother from her children?”

Samartha’s eyes shone in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Thank you…” he sighed deeply, a man finally free of all bondages. Prepared to move on from this world to the next.

Lalita felt Samartha’s hand grow limp in hers. She lifted it up to her forehead. “May you find freedom from the cycle of birth and death, Gurudeva.”

It had been hours since they’d finished the final rites of Guru Samartha. Lalita had done the rituals upon his request. In the absence of one’s son, it was said that a daughter or daughter-in-law could perform the rituals. And to him, Rudra was no less than a son.

Lalita held both the children—twins, a boy and a girl, just like her and Baahu—throughout the journey back to Maahishmati, refusing to let go even for a moment, despite Baahubali’s pleas. What delighted her was that pleas were not of fear or worry; they were born of sheer, unadulterated excitement. 

Something that had been missing from their voices and lives for many, many days.

Kattappa and Anila could not stop smiling. Lalita had given them the opportunity to hold the babies and bless them; Kattappa first. “I had read somewhere that in a Kuntalan custom, newborns are handed to a grandfather even before the mother herself,” she explained enthusiastically. “The grandfather blesses the children to have a long life.”

Lalita did not miss the tears that filled his eyes. 

He had always seen himself as a slave; surrounded by royals he could never truly be an equal to, just like many of his ancestors who’d sworn loyalty to Maahishmati. But he had something they never did—these precious royal twins who had never seen him as anything other than family.

“This is so not fair, Lali,” Baahubali grumbled. “Everyone got to hold them!”

She was not done pulling his leg. “You will have to hold them during the nights when they steal our sleep, Baahu. Do not worry, you won’t be disturbed then!” 

Kattappa and Anila laughed. Baahubali shot a blank, tired look toward them, one that was meant to be a glare. It did nothing to deter them; it only made them laugh even harder.

“Well, do I at least have an opportunity to name them?”

“All in good time, Baahu. Their naamakaranam must be done on the twenty-first day after birth, and on that day, I promise that it is you who will be pronouncing the names in their ears first.”

Baahubali smiled and nodded. Lalita held the children close to her chest. For the first time in a while, she did not feel like there was a gaping hole in her heart. She was not left to rot in a bed with just enough desire to merely survive.

She had found the will to live.

The night had been, for the most part, uneventful. The babies, contrary to what Lalita had heard and seen in medical wards, were sleeping quite peacefully. Sivagami had been outside the city on a pilgrimage and to inaugurate a new temple, and was hence unaware of the fact that her daughter was now a mother. But an old, experienced midwife who Vidya knew came to their rescue, and fed the babies with the diluted milk of a cow that had also recently given birth.

But this peace was not permanent. It ended the moment clouds crashed, sending out a loud, rumbling noise throughout the air. A thunderstorm was brewing.

She had tried everything. Milk was not an option; it had not even been an hour since they were last fed. She rocked them, moved them around, swung their cradle, and changed their clothes, but nothing seemed to work. 

On the verge of tears herself, she carried both children over to Baahubali’s chambers. 

He did not need to hear anything after having seen her glistening eyes. He immediately took Lalita inside, and made her lay down on the cot near the entrance. He made her sit down and glanced at her just once, briefly, but she understood what he meant.

I will handle it. Do not fret.

“You two devils have been troubling your mother too much on your very first day!” He first picked the girl up, before lifting the boy into his arms too.

All it took for the babies to stop screaming was a shift in the hands that held them. Lalita gasped in shock and a feeling of utter betrayal. Perhaps even a little bit of embarrassment.

Baahubali laughed softly. The newborns were tired, their eyes growing heavy, and their little bodies growing comfortable against his chest. “The children have chosen their favourite already, Lali,” he said, with a smug look.

After the children fell asleep, he handed them over to Lalita. A few hours later, they woke up crying again—this time, however, Lalita was not unequipped to comfort them; but she was definitely, completely unprepared for the manner in which her body had adapted to the needs of her children.

“Baahu… I think…” Lalita glanced down at her stanapatta, which had acquired a dark, wet blotch. “I think I’m lactating.”

Baahubali remained silent, but his eyes narrowed as his eyebrows scrunched together in a subtle frown. He immediately got to his feet and rushed to summon Vidya and the other healers himself.

An anxious Lalita had been made to lay down by Vidya. The most experienced doctor in the Kingdom of Maahishmati, Dhanvantari, was standing by the bed, running his fingers over his long white beard. His assistant, also an Ayurvedic physician, was examining Lalita. Kattappa waited outside. The protocol of a slave was only part of the reason; he was also keeping guard, watching out for any odd signs… or odd people. He thought that the manner in which Lalita’s chariot entirely broke down at the time of her initial injury was not an accidental occurrence.

The Vaishnava tilaka on Dhanvantari’s forehead had smudged a little at the edges due to the rain droplets. He had walked over from the street adjacent to the palace. It was not a short path, and neither was it easy for a man that age. Lalita hoped her gratitude was conveyed to him through her frantic glances, but she was too terrified to articulate anything. Baahubali sat on the bed, at Lalita’s feet, and fiddled with her anklet. Battlefields had never made him this nervous.

“The poison has completely left her body, hasn’t it?” Dhanvantari finally broke the silence.

“Yes!” Vidya jumped slightly at the suddenness of the query, though his voice had been soft. 

“And how sure are you?”

“We’d brought in three different healers, all of whom confirmed that there was not a trace of it left.”

Dhanvantari only raised an eyebrow, looking for a reason as to why he was supposed to trust three random healers upon whom he had never set his eyes before.

“They were tested and appointed by court order to examine the Princess,” Baahubali explained. “Rajamata Sivagami has personally overseen the process.”

Dhanvantari nodded, the movement barely visible. He had that contemplative look which doctors often bore on their faces in the moments of silence before they revealed their diagnosis; the one that always made an unspeakable fear settle in the patient’s heart.

Lalita had never felt this much empathy for a patient until now; she’d spent too long becoming accustomed to the doctor’s perspective.

“Amma, what’s the difference between a physician and a healer?” Baahubali had asked once as a child, when Sivagami was feeding him and Lalita dinner.

“We use the words interchangeably, child; but while a physician only looks at the bodily issue, a healer in the truest sense must be able to soothe. Often disease strikes the mind harder than it does the body.”

‘Come on, Dhanvantari garu,’ Lalita thought to herself impatiently. ‘Time to prove yourself as a healer.’

“It is said that luck favours the brave,” Dhanvantari began. “But sometimes, courage is only another form of compassion.”

Lalita and Baahubali exchanged confused glances, before they turned back toward him.

“The poison you endured has turned into the elixir of life for these children, Princess. You may begin to nurse them.”

The room was filled with gasps of shock. 

“Wh—what?” Lalita managed to utter. “That’s impossible; I have never even given birth!”

“There are mentions in the Puranas,” Dhanvantari elaborated, “of women who formed a maternal bond with children that were never born of their own selves, immediately upon sighting them. This is not entirely unheard of.”

“B-but by then they had already waited for years past their childbearing age,” Vidya cut in, still finding this absolutely absurd. “The Princess is barely twenty-one springs old.”

“You are right, Raja-Vaidya. This is a most peculiar case, but… not entirely impossible. We must remember that the Princess has undergone not just the brutal impact of the Vishakantaka, but also tremendous stress,” Dhanvantari glanced at her momentarily, with what seemed like sympathy. Even a man as detached as him was aware of the rumours that were spread concerning her name, through every neighbourhood of the city. 

Lalita’s eyes lowered in shame.

Dhanvantari continued. “All these factors combined can severely disrupt the mechanisms of her internal systems, especially the ones that produce the dhatus. There are many imbalances, and in this instance… paths that remain reserved only for women who give birth, may have opened up.”

Lalita did not know how to feel about the information she’d just learnt. Dhanvantari understood this.

He addressed her directly. “With this bold decision, your soul, that had been cracked open and made hollow by grief, has now filled with love of the highest form. The love of a mother. The heart of a mother cannot bear to see its children in pain, Rakumari Lalita,” he stepped closer to her and brushed his fingers against her forehead in a comforting gesture. “And the body only ever follows the heart. It does not know any other way.”

Lalita’s eyes widened. She turned towards the fussy babies that lay next to her. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared blankly for a few moments, as she tried to determine whether all that she’d heard felt true to her mind. If she could really follow through with what the healer just told her to do.

It did not take her long to decide.

Vidya placed the newborns into their cradles, and covered them with the softest blankets. They were ones that Sivagami had specially commissioned for Lalita and Baahubali when they were babies, which the former had still safeguarded. The Queen Mother was a very sentimental woman at heart. 

Lalita had just finished nursing the newborns, and laid on her back drowsily, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. It was a very draining process; even quite painful initially, to be fair. Babies did not always latch on perfectly.

And yet, there was nothing in the world Lalita would have traded this for. 

As her eyes fluttered shut, they caught the small mud idols of Rama, Sita, Lakshmana and Hanuman, a few feet away. A small altar had been made for them at a corner.

Though her mind was clouded with overwhelming fatigue, she did not struggle even a bit to identify them. She had made those idols for Baahu as his gift for their fourteenth birthday. Lalita noticed that they were now adorned with flowers that were only a day old, just beginning to wilt in the late hours of the night.

Baahubali was no less sentimental than his mother. And Lalita was no less sentimental than her twin. She still remembered what exactly she’d carved onto the bows of Rama and Lakshmana. They were meant to be her messages for Baahu.

On Lakshmana’s was, “dhairye, sahase, Lakshmi.” 

Luck favours the brave.

But courage was often another form of compassion. Like she’d shown the children. Like Baahubali had shown her.

On Rama’s was, “sarvadharmaan parityajya, maam ekam sharanam vraja.”

Bhagavan had said, in the Bhagavad Gita, “renounce all else and surrender yourself to me.”

For change was the only constant, and the only shield worthy of wearing was Rama’s name; it had the strength to turn poison into nectar.

As Lalita let sleep engulf her, she saw Baahubali emerge from the same corner of the room that took her down the memory lane. A small smile formed on her lips, before she completely shut her eyes to the world around her.

She had indeed never been abandoned.

Phew, that was a long chapter; but the ending is perhaps my favourite (along with that of chapter 3). Hope you enjoyed <3

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